The Misadventures of Rosalie Hale
by Love.RosalieLillian
Summary: Rosalie Hale started as an aristocrat of the 20's- the star of post-war Rochester New York, struggling to keep her claim on wealth. After she is decieved by a close companion, her life takes a rude twist for the worse. R&R!
1. Genisis

_The following story is my idea of how Rosalie from Twilight came to be, and how her life goes on from the point where she becomes a vampire. I will publish the story section by section, but I'll continue to work on it, so don't attack me with messages!_

I do not own Twilight, or any of these characters, but I really wish I did.

April 16th, 1915

Rochester, New York

Rosalie Lillian Hale was born.


	2. Vainity

March 28th, 1932

"Tom!"

I snatched up the hem of my dress, scampering across the crowded street after my brother.

"Oh Will, this is fancy!"

He waved a leatherbound notebook in the air as he raced into the park. There wasn't much privacy I got in a household of two younger twin brothers, a father put out of work and a paranoid mother, and I didn't ask for much either. However, this was a completely different story.

"March 24th, as I lay in my bed again, I can't help but think about that man in the-"

I screamed at the top of my lungs to drown his words and tackled him with all my force. I knew I would be given Hell about this later, but that little book could easily ruin any teenage girls' life. It was worth loosing the status of "lady-like" for the evening.

"Don't you dare!" I wrestled him for the diary between my frantic words.

Tom struggled for a minute, eventually giving in with a gusty, dramatic sigh.

"I suppose it's only fair I let the lady of the house win." He chuckled bouyantly and dusted his trousers.

I huffed and rearranged my dress, stalking back through the crowded street alongside Tom. As we reached the other side of the street, William rejoined us with a wide grin.

"Tommy, you know Ma's gonna be beefing you all night over this."

I smirked triumphantly, "And knowing how Mister "Big Shot" King is coming over for dinner, she'll give you real grief!"

I tossed my hair over my shoulder when they fell silent at my words. I enjoyed the couple of heads that turned as I did so. I don't blame them. I was easily the most beautiful woman under the sunlight, and I was easily the most perfect. The way my blonde hair cascaded like silk down my back, compared to the other women who cut their hair for style, set me in a class of my own. My eyes could pierce any man's heart, those that even dared look at them, and that lead me to be provocative, mysterious. I was Rosalie Hale, one of the only families besides the King family who was still in the Upper-Middle class- even if we were classified so by the skin of our teeth.

As we returned home, my mother was standing in the kitchen bustling about with dinner, father sat at the table with the daily paper and coffee. To avoid any discussion, I tip-toed upstairs to swap on a new, dirt free dress and prepare for dinner.

"Thomas Earl Hale, I cannot believe you!" She shouted while setting the table. "You can't run off your sister like that! Rosalie! Rose!"

I reappeared in a light pink dress, with pleats at the waist, looking completely unscathed from the episode that happened not long ago.

"Yes Ma." I kissed her cheek and took the silverware from her and began setting them on the table.

My father nodded his head and smiled in recognition as I took his empty lunch plate to the sink. I had missed my father. Not in the sense of his presence, but who he once was. Ever since the Depression took a hit on us, he lost his job in the bank and it seems his feelings of self-preservation fell to the wayside while watching his boys search for jobs in his place. He was a good man, who laughed and joked, and I missed that.

"Mister King Senoir has a meeting about the bank opening up, so he won't make it, he's sending his boy Royce over for dinner, so look spiffy."

She took a minute to twist a curl of my hair and spoke again more gently, "Royce is a swell boy, and I want you and him to get close, you hear? Mister Senoir has been saying he's got a little thing for you."

She gave a little smirk and continued back to the stove to carry on her cooking.

Royce King II, heir to the King's banking empire, has a thing for me? I leaned against the door frame of the kitchen in thought. It was only natural, seeing as I was the most beautiful girl around, and he was fairly handsome himself. He was handsome and _rich _- what my mother wanted to get out of the Depression.

I had become the one way ticket for my family to reach social ranking of stardom, to be the ritzy-ist family around. My father could get his job in the bank again, my brothers could go to college instead of work, my mother would be happy, I would be happy... All this rested on my shoulders. I wouldn't mind, I would love to be the one to make my family proud, but I hardly knew Royce. I saw his face around town, staring at me like most men, his face showed up in my father's paper every now and then, but was he any man at that? Who was I to know?

I loved my family dearly, almost more than anything else in the world, but I would have to eventually move on and start one of my own. I wanted to be the mother in a big home, with a boy and a girl, neighborhood children playing on the front lawn, waving to my neighbors, wearing expensive pearls, working the bake sale... I wanted all that, but I questioned it each day. Maybe the most invaluable thing in the world was happiness, maybe that's all I wanted.

I snapped my head up, out of my reverie, and treaded to the door where the bell had just rung. I held my breath- why was I, Rosalie Hale, nervous?- and set my eyes firmly on Royce King II, the man of my future. He was crisp and clean, with a silk fedora cupped in his hand against his chest. I smiled and felt my cheeks go scarlet.

"The young Miss Hale, I believe?" He gave a nod with a broad smile, and pressed his lips to my hand.

Now, I believed Royce was perfect. He was gorgeous, a true gentleman, and he was _rich_.

_He was everything my mother had dreamed of_, I thought.

I lead him inside, and he sat alongside my father, starting a bit of small talk. My mother dragged me into the kitchen and gave a quick giggle- she reminded me of a school girl.

She squeaked with joy, "Rose, oh! Isn't he swell?"

I nodded and let my gaze drift over her shoulder.

_My gut instinct was subtle, I confused it for butterflies._

"Now Rosalie, I want you to serve his dinner and return to your room, if you're unavailable to him tonight, he'll come back like a stray for seconds!"

I nodded and flashed a smile, taking two plates for my father and Royce.

_Royce._

"Here father, Mister King." He interrupted and told me to call him Royce.

I smiled and felt my cheeks on fire again. "Royce, you'll excuse me, I'm feeling quite tired."

I saw his lips flicker a frown, and return to a smitten grin, "I'll come again tomorrow, when you're well rested for a walk in the park!"

I nodded and walked upstairs, unbelieving of how accurate my mother was in foretelling Royce's actions.

When I reached my room, I slipped off my dress quickly, eager to shed some form of heat off of my body, and crawled under the sheets of my bed. I laid there thinking for quite some time, if Royce and I could ever be what I wanted- the picturesque family with children and happiness. He would leave every morning, and I would kiss his cheek. I'd stay and watch the children, nurture them, love them, and have a fabulous meal ready when he came home. He would thank me, and lavish me with flowers and gifts. We would be happy, and in love.

I hoped.


	3. Strangers

March 28th, 1932

I woke to the sound of rustling in my room.

When I managed to open my eye against the harsh light, I saw my mother, frantically sifting through my closet of dresses.

"Ma?" I sat up, hoarse-voiced and watched her.

"I found you a nice flora dress, it looks so ritzy, he'll love it! Now hurry, get dolled up, he'll be here in a minute!"

I didn't have time to reply as the door slammed, in what would have been my approval. I threw off the sheet of my bed and shivered, sliding in front of the floor length mirror next to my vanity. I was gorgeous, even with squinted eyes and morning bed hair, I was still more beautiful than any other women in New York.

I pulled on the dress and sat on the stool where dresses have been laid for all my teenage years. I contented myself in only applying a dab of powder on my nose and brushing my tresses into silky waves. I was beautiful, and I was smart. I had a mind, and a temper, and I was strong-willed for a lady of seventeen. I watched my hair as it shifted into the waves that everyone adored, and sighed.

I had a perfect life- why wasn't I happy? My facade miraculously held in place when others were around, but to myself, alone with the solitude of my thoughts, I couldn't lie to myself. I wanted to be happy, I did.

I gave one quiet sigh before venturing downstairs, hearing a crescendo of buoyant laughter as I descended the stairs.

"Hey there kitten, as spiced up for that walk?" Royce chuckled and grabbed hold of my hand.

I couldn't respond for a moment. No man had touched my like that, like he owned me. I couldn't decide whether the tiny prickles under my skin were of shock or admiration, and so I smiled and nodded.

My facade was mounted in place, and on full, prideful display.

Royce led my around the park, asking casual questions one would ask when getting to know someone. What do you think of the whether, Rose? How do you like your ice cream? Do you enjoy the bouquets I've sent?

I answered him, using every ounce of eyelash-batting and giggling that I ad to spark his interest. I was very convincing when I put my best effort into it- in fact, I doubt anyone has ever denied me- but Royce... He just smiled. He smiled and continued walking, never stopping to chuckle unless prompted, never pausing to touch my cheek, fix my hair, or simply glance my way. Was this normal? Was he playing hard to get, or was I being obnoxious? I frowned slightly, casting my gaze on a couple quite some distance ahead of us.

It was Vera. It was _always_Vera. I loved my friend, she was the closest to a sister as I would ever have, but I envied her. I envied her badly. She married Johnathon only a year ago when she was seventeen, and had a child. Every smile, every laugh, everything she did was for them. She was happy, and she wasn't rich, she wasn't famed in society.

I felt a bitter taste on the tip of my tongue, and pressure behind my eyes. I quickly dismissed the thought and started mentally shouting incantations of my personal happiness- my beauty.

"Rosalie, pay attention." I snapped my head up at a harsh, whispered utterance.

"I'm sorry?" Royce had never spoken to me like that.

"I was explaining the banking systems, perhaps you would do yourself a favor and listen." He placed a bitter smirk on his thin lips. It was almost intimidating, how he stared. His eyes were sharper, and they watched my every move. His body seemed to lean away- perhaps in repulsion by my naivety. I had made another mistake in his eyes.

I felt the sudden gut instinct of apprehension, of what I didn't know. I knew something, something that felt wrong. Was that butterflies, or was I just having an off-day? But Rosalie Hale never has an off-day...

It felt like my body was foreign to this environment, even though I grew up on these streets, played in the market, lived in it's hay day. I felt like a stranger to this world, and the man next to me was as misplaced in my life as I felt. I wanted to ignore these feelings, to believe Royce was my future and happily ever after, but these feelings were plain as day, no matter how I tried to bury them.

Royce King could never make me feel like Vera, and her capenter husband, and curly haired, dimpled Henry.

It was the truth.

That night, as I wrote in my little, leatherbound book of secracy, I swore to myself that I would make my family proud. They needed the money, I'd marry Royce for the money. They wanted something to be proud of, okay, I'd marry Royce for the bragging rights. I'd be what they wanted, needed- even if it cost me my happiness. I could never be Vera, I knew that. Marrying Royce was the only solution for the problems that plagued the people I cared about most, so I would do it, with a smile plastered to my beautiful face.

I was never a selfless person, and this promise of character and moral standing caused my built up tears to slide down my moonlit cheeks. I stared hopelessly out the window of my bedroom, caged like a bird- wings clipped, heart shattered. I would never fly, I could never leave this place. I would live in Rochester all my life with a stranger, a man I pretended to love because it would benefit others.

_Rosalie Hale_, I thought in the quiet of my mind_, _

_You are a beautiful person_.


	4. Erroneous

April 15th, 1933

I don't feel mature, I feel like a child. I feel little, and small, lost and unimportant. That's how I felt all the time- being ridiculed by my mother, my brothers beginning to cast me away, Royce's every move around me when we were by ourselves, and his facade as well as mine had faded. My life had plummeted from where I was mere weeks ago. I _had _a perfect life, I _had _everything.

He sure fooled my mother, though. She was mesmerised, mystified that a man as perfect- as rich- as Royce would pop into our lives. Her life. I really wondered now, if my mother cared at all for my well being and happiness. She had thrown me under the bus when Royce formally proposed marriage to me two weeks prior. She was the one that accepted the offer, not me.

Even my father, who was the one in the most demise, had a small frown on his face. My brothers were on edge, happy to be granted the chance at college. My mother would finally get her stardom, her latest fashions and ritzy dresses. But what about me? Is it selfish to ask, where is my peace in this happiness? Where is my happy family, my children, my big house in the grassy terrain- more importantly, my loving husband?

March 30th, the day that chunk of diamond slipped onto my finger, Royce had caved in. He stopped sending bouquets, sweet notes, buying dresses- Hell, he even stopped shaving. And lord help me, he wasn't suitable with stubble. Royce had become a man I no longer recognized, he wasn't the man my mother brainwashed me into falling in love with. I knew this man was perfect, he _had_ to be! He was rich, he had treated me well...

"Rosie, dry up! You're actin' like a dumb Dora..." My mother growled vehmently as she threw a pair of gloves at me.

"You be back before midnight, or I'll give you greif- you know it child!"

I sighed and closed the doors, her last words ringing in my head. I rubbed my temples gently as I continued down the road toward Vera's house. In times where I couldn't understand myself, she understood me. She was everything I would ever need in a best friend, a sister. As I made my way past houses, nearing closer, I could hear a child's laughter followed by a seasoned man's.

I felt my throat close up, and my eyes fill with tears.

Why is it that she had everything? I know that there was no way I would ever have what she did if I stayed with Royce. I would be rich, and that would be the only thing I had.

I know it's very unlike me to consider the thought, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that what would make me happiest isn't money. It never was. Being _happy_ would make me happy. Having my family, my children, my husband... I shuddered at the thought of Royce being that man. No matter how much brainwashing I was subjected to by my mother, I refused to believe that a two-faced man like Royce could bring me anything but grief.

I hadn't done much, or said much when I first arrived inside. It was a casual "hello" to Johnathon as I waited for Vera to settle Henry's crying. I couldn't help but look him up and down, to see if I was missing some outstanding aspect that made him so desirable. There wasn't anything. I imagine his calloused hands would feel rough, and his appearance was rather scruffy... No, there wasn't anything on the _outside_ that made Johnathon special. It was him, just him all along.

I forced a weak smile as Vera entered, and she eyed me suspiciously. That girl, she could give me away in a heartbeat.

"I, er, suppose I'll go tidy the house." John smiled and quickly made an exit, seeing that we were in need of "girl time".

I sighed and slumped into a kitchen chair, "Am I that obvious?"

"Would you like to hold him?" Vera smiled, dismissing any prolonged feelings, and held out her beautiful son toward me.

I blinked, and nodded as I took him cautiously into my arms. This was the first time I held him. It almost felt like I was seeing _my_ child for the first time, because I had always thought of Henry, having my own Henry, Henry being mine. I felt dazed as his hazel-green eyes looked up at me, they creased at the corners when he flashed a toothless, dimpled grin, followed by a gurgling coo.

Something inside me made my throat swell, and I quickly looked up at Vera.

"You're always welcome here," she smiled gently and continued.

"I know we don't have much, but if you ever decide to leave that aweful place..."

She wrinkled her nose and laughed gently, taking Henry back into her arms. After all, it was her arms he belonged in.

I nodded and smiled quickly, "Yes, thank you. I'll visit more often."

She smiled brightly as she glanced at the clock, "Well Rosie, I guess I get to be the first to say it! Happy 18th birthday!"

Just then, Johnathon had swung around the corner where he was hidden behind a wall, and held up a crookedly wrapped box.

"Vera, you didn't have to..." I frowned slightly, remembering how little they had to spend, even on themselves.

She quickly waved her hand, furrowing her brows, "Don't you start! Open it!"

She was squirming in her seat as I gingerly took the box and lifted the paper. Inside the box was a pink, miniature fedora with a thin white feather- the kind of thing Royce would buy. I plastered a smile on my face, truly happy at such a present. Despite the memory it might bring up, it was a lovely hat.

"I love it!" I kissed her cheek and hugged Johnathon.

_I have happiness right here, _I thought.

It was rather late when I said my third goodbye and headed down the lamplit streets. The air was much colder now that the Sun was tucked away, and the faint sound of police sirens could be heard from several streets away. It wasn't until I noticed an unexpected group on a street corner not so far away that I became suddenly uneasy.

And then it hit me.

That small, frightened feeling was no longer butterflies, but a swarm- a hoard of fanged insects, rotting me from the inside out.


	5. Filth

April 16th, 1933

I felt his hips press against mine violently, like a mortar and pestle. I felt the confinement of being held down, weak, alone, and I cried. I wanted it to be over, to kill me- to _please _kill me. I was screaming for it, but the only time they stopped was when the next man- or hardly that- took his turn. They took turns on me, like I was some animal- like this was a game, and not my human life.

They were tearing apart my virginity, and scoffing at my chastity. They laughed while they _ruined_ me.

I felt naked, past the flesh they latched onto like wolves, further and deeper into me than they forced entry too. I felt naked to my very bones.

I heard a drunken chortle- Royce, a disgusting man marking his disgusting victory.

"Poor kitten," his voice grew distant at each word.

"Can't embrace womanhood."

They laughed. They laughed as they left me to _die_.

I felt the last mans lips curl up in a sneer as he pulled himself from the underside of my leg.

I could feel the bleeding from scrapes that were clawed across my skin, the April wind blistering against bruised flesh. I could feel everything, and I wanted to die- to stop all of this _feeling_. I wanted to stop breathing so I couldn't feel the pulsing, so the cold, wet blood would go, so that my life would be over, and so would this horrible, horrible reality.

I think I what I hated more was that I _trusted_ him so blindly. I had my suspisions from the start, but did I let them hinder my choices? No. I pretended to be a martyr, a saint, and pledge to donate my life for those that I love.

_As if!_ I thought. _Rosalie Lillian Hale could never, ever be a saint._

I laid there, alone in the street, for what seemed like hours- maybe even days. The sky never lightened as if it were eternally dark, and my senses never returned to me as if I were already on my way to Hell. I let a soft moan roll off my tongue, letting my minimal supply of air hitch in my throat. I could feel myself, I was aware of _me. _I didn't want to. I didn't want to feel. I _couldn't_ let myself feel.

I opened my eyes and looked for someone, something, anything to focus on. I saw a crumpled pink fedora, and a thin white feather, not to far away from it. I gritted my teeth. How _dare_ he. I felt a different kind of pain press against my chest. It was pain for involving my loved ones. This was my life to live, if they didn't care about me- if they didn't love me- they wouldn't have been hurt. They wouldn't have cared that I died, naked, in the middle of the street like a prostitute.

I bit the inside of my cheek- hard. The more I though about everone that I had let down, that I had hurt... The more the pain increased.

How could I be so blind?

I don't remember what had happened from there, where I went, how long I stayed there. I did, however, remember the air, and his eyes.

It had grown colder since the men had first left me, but an eerie sense of halfhearted reprieve seeped from the presence of a blurred figure. I felt as if God were there, as if he were the one standing beside my haggard, beautiful, bloody body, waiting to make judgement on my path of afterlife. I knew it was a split decision, I had a half and half chance at Heaven or Hell. I bit my cheek again and held my breath, I deserved Hell for what I had allowed myself to go through.

As I raised my gaze to the man with whatever strength I had left, his luminescent bronze eyes met mine, and for a minute- just one- I knew I would be alright. I knew I would be _safe_.

For a while I remembered black- cold and sinister. I thought God had changed his mind and hurled me into the first layar of Hell. My fears were justified as a piercing pain erupted under the skin of my neck. It spontaneously jumped to my wrists, and my thigh, infecting my body like a rampant disease. The flames licked the inside of my body, almost as if they were the brutal kisses they gave me.

_I'm broken, used parts, formerly perfect, _I thought, trying to find reasons why I deserved this.

A wild, violent heat scorched my throat, and then raced down my spin. I longed for the flames to die down, if even a little. I felt a rush of icy wind across my bare body, surrounding me like a cocoon of knives, pointed daggers or icicles- I couldn't tell. It didn't numb me like I hoped it would, the stinging and flames burned brighter. I supposed that was why Hell was so infamous, there was no escape, no salvation. I was simply existing in a supernatural darkness. I was going through to the inner layer of Hell, and I knew every reason why.

_ Count them Rosalie_, I thought. _Count the reasons why_.

_One, you were weak, insecure._

_Two, you believed a man over your own judgement._

_It should've been your call._

"Three," I choked, barely audible.

"I killed myself."

I still couldn't believe that I had conquered the first ring of Hell.

_Dante,_ I thought,

_How did you survive this endless Inferno?_

I let my mind wander aimlessly through the darkness, which hadn't lightened, and I felt even more alone. The pain wasn't agonizing anymore, but there was still a dull burn in the back of my throat. I suppose this was my momentary break to stop and "smell the roses". I'll use this time to overload my mid with the things my brain couldn't think of past the pain.

Had Royce and his comrades really, _honestly_ have been capable of killing me all this time?

I felt a slight tremble in my body, something that resembled a porch swing, or a gentle breeze. How could something as broken, as frail, as _used_ as me still "flutter"? At that point, I resolved to believe they had done it, I knew they did.

They _took_ me.

_They_ took me.

And then the memories came back in a flood, and it made me glad the pain came too.

I swallowed back a build up of sweet, fiery saliva, and shuddered. I felt different, foreign. I didn't like it, and as the pain began to dull again, I disregarded my promise not to feel, and listened to the murmmers I heard around me.

These voices weren't harsh as I would've expected. There were three people- and they certainly were much calmer than I was. The first man, a deep, smooth voice was hovering somewhere to my left.

"I couldn't just _leave_ her, Edward. If you'd have seen her-"

"I what? I would have _what?_" The second man by the name of Edward was upset- upset about my arrival in this place. I didn't blame him, but I still felt a prideful knot tighten in my chest.

"Hush, you'd have done what I did." I felt section of the bed, or couch sink as the man lowered himself beside me.

"Carlisle is right, Edward. It wasn't her time." A woman spoke, close to the man named Carlisle, and Edward started again.

"Who are _we_to judge when someones _time_ is?" And with that, I heard a quick shuffle of footsteps and a door slam in the distance, possibly above me, maybe below.

I didn't know where these people had taken me, if I was dead, or alive, somewhere in between... I didn't know why Edward hated me, and I didn't know why the man and the woman were being so kind while I was in Hell. I didn't know what was happening to me, but I was going to find out- no matter what the consequence might be.

Next Chatper Soon!(:


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